


Out Here in Front of God and Everybody

by AstroGirl



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Clothed Sex, Frottage, Hand Job, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Semi-Explicit, Semi-Public Sex, Stopping Time, post-notpocalypse, sex with feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:48:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29093013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstroGirl/pseuds/AstroGirl
Summary: They have the entire world, now, to love each other in.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 83
Collections: Society for the Promotion of Underappreciated Sex Acts (Good Omens Local 666), Trope Bingo: Round Sixteen





	Out Here in Front of God and Everybody

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Trope Bingo, for the prompt "public sex/risk of discovery." I'd say qualifies more as the latter than the former, but I suppose it might depend on your definition.

It happens so quickly, it takes him entirely by surprise. One moment they're walking side-by-side through the park, talking idly about what they might do with the rest of the day, or possibly with rest of eternity, and the next Crowley is saying, "Know what I'd like to do right _now?_ " and giving him that look, the one he's only just barely beginning to be used to, wicked and fond and happy, but also full of possibility. Full of _desire_.

Then he's being backed gently up against a tree, and everything is really quite lovely: the sturdy trunk against his back, the long, warm press of Crowley's body against his, the insistent softness of Crowley's lips. How wonderful, to be kissed by Crowley in the sunshine! Why haven't they done this before? It's always been in the bookshop, or in Crowley's flat, or, once or twice, in the Bentley, in the dark. And yet, here they are with the whole, wide world to kiss in.

A hand cradles the back of Aziraphale's head, a warm, sweet layer of protection between him and the roughness of the bark. Crowley's tongue flickers eagerly into his mouth, and his other hand travels down Aziraphale's side. Down, and around, and between their bodies, until his fingers come to press, first teasingly, then firmly, against Aziraphale's rapidly hardening sex.

Aziraphale gasps out his delighted surprise and throws back his head as the demon kisses down the side of his neck, soft and nippy, the way they've discovered he likes best. As Crowley's fingers dance and stroke and begin to work at the button of his trousers. As Aziraphale turns his face upwards towards the sun, and all around them--

Oh. Oh, _dear_. Oh, no.

"Crowley."

Crowley makes a noise. It's a very nice noise, one of Aziraphale's favorites. An intimate, bedroom noise. 

And they are _not_ in a bedroom. "Crowley. We should..." The button comes free, and the tips of Crowley's fingers dip teasingly inside Aziraphale's trousers. "We should go. Take me home. Take me home, right this instant."

Crowley lets out a hissing groan, a sound no other creature on Earth has ever made, and his body undulates against Aziraphale's in a movement more snaky than anything human-shaped ought to be capable of. He can feel Crowley's arousal, can sense his excitement. It thrills him utterly. He doubts it will ever cease to thrill him, this evidence that they can be _this_ to each other, as well. 

But. _But_. "We're in _public_. There are _people_!" He can see them now, past the heat of Crowley's body above the fire of Crowley's hair. Humans, coming up the path. They haven't noticed anything, not yet, but they will at any moment. He and Crowley are directly in their line of sight, and they're only getting closer, and...

"Don't wanna stop," says Crowley, growling the words hot against the pulse of Aziraphale's throat.

"Crowley!"

Crowley makes another sound, this one consisting mostly of phonemes humans haven't used since the Tower of Babel, pulls Aziraphale's head forward, extracts his fingers from Aziraphale's hair, and snaps.

Everything goes quiet and still. The humans on the path, the birds, the rustling of the leaves. Everything but Crowley's mouth, Crowley's body against his. "There. Problem solved."

Aziraphale blinks. "Well. That is one solution, I suppose." Crowley is kissing his neck again. He tries not to let it distract him. At least, not more than he can handle. "But doesn't that take a..." He stops for a small gasp, as Crowley sucks at his skin in just _exactly_ that perfect way. "...a great deal of concentration?"

"I had some really good practice recently," says Crowley, and, oh, my, when _did_ he get the rest of Aziraphale's flies undone?

"Yes, but... Oh, goodness, Crowley, your _hands_." 

Crowley somehow manages to smirk at him without quite moving his face from Aziraphale's neck, and definitely without stopping what his hands are doing.

"But," Aziraphale says, channeling all his angelic will into finishing his thought, "aren't you likely to... to lose control? In a moment of... of..." Crowley _squeezes_ , gently but insistently, and it's almost enough to make Aziraphale simply give up. Almost. "And then we'll be visible again, and..."

"And what?" Crowley says. "Who are you worried will see? Heaven? Hell? Let them watch. Let them drive themselves crazy watching. They can't do a blessed thing to us. The humans? What do you care? They'll all be dead in a hundred years anyway."

"Oh, Crowley, _really_."

Crowley pulls his face back, finally, and looks into Aziraphale's eyes. This close, Aziraphale can meet his gaze, even through the darkness of the lenses. "I won't lose control of it," he says. His hand stills. "Trust me." And he waits.

 _Trust me._ Oh, it does something to Aziraphale, something warm and profound, to hear those words and to know that his reply this time will not be, "Of course I don't trust you. You're a demon." That he will never have to utter that lie again.

"Fiend," he says, but it's an endearment, and an agreement. And Crowley knows it.

"Angel," the demon says, in the perhaps most loving voice that Aziraphale as ever heard.

And then Crowley is slithering around him, circling him, until he is between Aziraphale and the tree, his chest pressed against Aziraphale's back, both of them facing out across the frozen park.

"Angel," he says again. And again, and again, as his suddenly miracle-slick hand grips and slides and pleasures the length of Aziraphale's cock, as his hips swivel and flex and grind against the welcoming expanse of Aziraphale's arse. 

Aziraphale can feel him, can feel all of him, through all the layers of human clothing and human flesh, and it feels...

Right. It feels _right_. Doing this, _being_ this, here, with Crowley. Here, in their own moment of stillness, with the world waiting all around them. _Their_ world. Their sunshine, their trees, their park, their people. All of it, all of this. _Theirs._

Crowley's miracle will not let them down. Crowley never has yet. But he's right. Even if it did, even if the magic were to stutter and fail and drop them back into the flow of human time entirely en flagrante, he doesn't care. Let them see. Let them all see. After six thousand years, let them _know_. Let the whole world see this demon's hands on him, this demon's love, this demon's joy tangling with his, let them see what it _does_ to him.

He throws back his head. The sky is so bright, so blue, so open. _Theirs_.

"Crowley," he cries out. " _Crowley!"_

"I know," says Crowley. "Angel. Angel. I _know_."

And all at once, everything is bright. Brighter than sunlight, brighter than fire, and he is spilling out into Crowley's hand, quivering in Crowley's embrace, while behind him his lover clutches and thrusts and makes a sound that might be Aziraphale's name, or might be the primal note that called the stars into being, or might be both at once.

When Aziraphale opens his eyes again, the world around them is precisely as it was. Crowley has held it still and safe and steady through it all, exactly as he promised. 

Perhaps it is post-coital sentiment that makes that thought swell the way it does inside Aziraphale's chest: as big, and as soft, and as familiar as a demon's love. Perhaps not.

He turns and gathers Crowley in his arms, holding him warm and close for... Well. He doesn't know how long. Seconds and minutes don't exist for them now, and even if they did, would it matter? They have all of eternity, after all. No matter how long they spend like this, it will never bring the end of it any closer.

Crowley sighs softly, nuzzles him, kisses him, languid and slow. "See?" he says. His smile is lazy and satisfied, proud and amused, and full of love. "Told you it'd be all right."

"More than," says Aziraphale. His face scarcely feels large enough to contain his smile. "More than all right."

"Bit sticky, though," says Crowley. "Here."

He waves a hand, and the dampness on Aziraphale's trousers, before and behind, vanishes. Every thread of his clothing is neatly back in place. "Show-off," Aziraphale says. Although he should, perhaps, not be surprised that Crowley can manage this, too, even as he holds the world still. It isn't very different from re-directing a bomb and simultaneously preserving a bag full of books, is it? Not very different at all.

"I'm just that good." Crowley grins at him.

"Yes," Aziraphale says, with feeling. "You _are_."

With a small dramatic flourish, Crowley snaps his fingers. Around them, the world begins to move again.

And, unhurried, arm in arm, they resume strolling through it together.


End file.
